


Seven Days, Seven Lies

by Bubblegumlocks



Series: 100quills [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 100quills, Blackcest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblegumlocks/pseuds/Bubblegumlocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2006, for a challenge on LJ.  Also part of my 100quills table on LJ.  The last days of Regulus’ life, told in letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 46, Swirl

_Dearest Mother,_

_scritch scratch_

The utter silence is broken by the sound of my quill scraping across the parchment. Lies, I’ll tell. I watch as the words flow before me, a pool of ink swirling and mixing like the blood from my wrists in the white porcelain sink all those summers ago.

I absently trace the scars with one calloused finger while the others clench. I gently place the quill on the weathered desk. It’s beaten, and old and stained with generations of use and decades of abuse, the scars matching mine. I finger each gouge, each new gouge from the familiar point of a knife before taking the quill up again and dipping it slowly into the ink.

_It is with great pleasure and little consequence that I inform you of my latest doings._

I hit a rut in the desk and my wrist spasms, the ink spraying wildly across the paper. I see a hole in the parchment and a bigger spot of ink in the corner. I sigh wearily and remove another piece from a drawer, crumpling the wasted sheet with my tensed hand.

My eyes wander, over my quill, across the desk to the other side of the room. I can see him there, in the shadows, watching me. His grey eyes, artfully framed by long lashes and a perfect drape of hair, staring at me in the shadows between the candles. I can feel his gaze and I pause, the quill halfway to the parchment.

I blink and he’s gone.

_I, Regulus Arcturus Black, have entered the humble servitude of Lord Voldemort._

I can feel his frown like I can see her smile. Her son, her _true_ son, going above and beyond what is expected of a mere secondborn who was always overshadowed by his more handsome, smarter, older brother.

I think of home, of dark passageways, of him and his words and his _ideas_. I think of Father dying and how Mother was silent for days when his words and ideas cut so deep and hard that he never came.

I trace the scars again, with purpose. I can feel him breathing on my neck, soft gasps, and his fingers on my elbow.

_I hope to climb the ranks soon after I take the mark and do the Black Family proud._

The silence is broken by my sobs. I cry and he’s watching. I cry and he’s there, mocking and smiling and so goddamn happy to have escaped this hell.

_Cousin Bellatrix has taken me under her wing and I know I shall do well._

I hear him cry out, a blissful release as he watches me. I caress my arm in an imitation, breathing in, closing my eyes. I _know_ he is there.

_I shall write more, Mother, after I have taken the mark. I hear it smarts so it will be perhaps a few days until further news._

I set the quill down again. Closing my eyes and breathing in again, I smell the ink and blood and him. My jaw clenches automatically, against the smell, against his presence.

I look down at my hands. My pale hands with pale pink scars and dark ink spots, like his eyes and his hair and his beautiful skin. My pale hands running down his chest and over his back, scratching and pulling. I blink and gaze at my left forearm, my unblemished left forearm.

I take up the quill again, only to find the ink has dried. I think of red, swirling, a fitting way to end this, this letter, this lie.

I grip the edge of the desk, feeling the grain beneath my palm. It’s cool and does little to calm my resolve. I will do this.

I will do this for him. I will “enter the humble servitude” of the crazy Dark Lord, take his Dark Mark and call him “master”. I will do this, for him.

I will take the Dark Mark and make centuries of Blacks proud. I will burn a mark, riddled with Dark Magic, into the very pores of my pale forearm, to be at beck and call of a megalomaniac, for him.

I resolve to cry no longer, not at the pain, not at the loss.

I can feel my brother watching, and I resolve again, to do this, become a follower, for my brother.

I move the quill, heavy now, and sign. This is for my brother, for him to come home.

_scritch scratch_

__

Your loving son,  
RAB


	2. Wait, 31

_Sirius—_

_knock knock_

I jump in my seat when a tree branch knocks against my window. It’s dark, and though my window faces naught but lawn, I can see dark clouds crossing over the horizon. It’s windy and my hand steadies the candle I’ve almost knocked over when I jump again.

I skim over my recent owls; a letter from Mother, praising and hypocritical, a summons for tonight. I gingerly put it to the side and, taking a deep breath, dip my quill in the ink.

_I write this knowing you will never read it, but I must try._

Tonight he’s not there. After years of torment and days of waiting, he’s not there. I can’t see him in the shadows anymore, his grey eyes watching me. I don’t feel his breath on my neck and I don’t feel his grip on my hip. I sigh in relief and write.

_You, my brother, have it all. You were right, right in leaving and never looking back, right about Bellatrix, right about the Dark Lord, right about Mother and Father._

The tree knocks against the window again and I drop my quill. The house is quiet. Kreacher has gone home and I’m alone and _he’s not there either_.

_Yet you will never be right about us._

He’s not there and he should be. He should be home and none of this would have ever happened.

_Two brothers, separated, yet inexplicably joined by love?_

If he hadn’t left, if he hadn’t been in my room all those nights ago comforting me during a storm much like this one, if he hadn’t become red, he’d still be home and I wouldn’t be waiting for a knock not from a tree.

_You must hate me, brother._

They are coming for me tonight, coming to mark me, to taint me, all for the sake of _him_.

_Oh, Sirius, I long for you to read this, to come home, to save your wretched brother from the fate he has almost sealed himself in._

They come for me, taking me further away from him, in my efforts to get to him.

_Tonight. Tonight, Sirius, I write not to beg forgiveness or for faith, tonight is the night I take the Mark. Tonight is the night I forever leave you, only for you._

I wait at my desk, the edge of my seat, staring into the candlelight. I hear thunder in the distance, all but nearly drowned out by the beating of my heart.

My eyes flicker to his spot. I breathe in.

Nothing.

_Tonight is for you._

I roll the parchment and place it gently at the back of a drawer. I sit, waiting, my fingers laced on the desk. I breathe steadily and I am visibly calm, though inside I know I shall cringe when I hear the door.

This is for him.

_knock knock_

_Ever and always, yours,  
RAB_


	3. 22, Ugly

_Dearest Mother,_

_mmm mmmngh_

It is the wee hours of the morning when I finally lay my quill down and survey my latest missive. To my mother, proud Pureblood of seven centuries or some such rot, I know she’ll read the letter to her group of friends and they’ll smile, knowing looks at each other, and pat her on the hand for raising such a good son; meanwhile, they’ll gossip behind their gloved hands about the one that got away.

My eyes narrow, the thoughts of him, always lurking over my shoulder, his eyes following me throughout the room. I shudder at his reaction, the ugly look in his eyes matched only by that of the ugly mark on my arm. I can feel the whisper of his touch on the very mark, his grimace and frown.

I can hear him whisper in my ear, “You foolish boy,” almost in awe as he nibbles behind my ear. I sigh and lean back, the shadow of his embrace captured in the back of my chair. His eyes, wide and shining, watch me perpetually from the shadows across the room, except when he sees my arm. His beautiful grey eyes, turned away from my ugly arm.

I blink rapidly. Sleep is coming, though I fear I’ll not invite her. It’s been few hours since the Dark Mark was scarred into my soul and I know I’ll have plenty to think about.

_It is with great pleasure that I introduce myself not as your son, but as a newly initiated follower of our Lord Voldemort._

I was, in effect, forced. My arm was outstretched, my hand was shaking, and each passing second was another off my own short life. How could I murder an innocent despite how dirty their blood was? Especially when they had eyes like his, eyes that almost matched my own. This one, I knew, had been picked especially for me.

I faltered, took a step back and almost lowered my wand, but the look in my cousin’s eyes stopped me. “You have to mean it,” I remembered her whispering in my ear. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and pictured the look on his face when he allowed himself to be possessed. I was forced.

_I have surpassed his scrutiny and have joined the team with my cousins and fellow brethren in blood._

I knew instantly that my life had been spared when the dull thud of dead weight hit the ground. I could feel Bella’s smile and it made my skin crawl. She ran a sharp fingernail down my cheek, her eyes always hooded and a smirk upon her face. “The Dark Lord always knows, my pet,” she breathed in my ear.

I was numb throughout the Marking Ceremony, reciting vows and holding my left arm out without further thought. I flinched when the Dark Lord touched me. I was rewarded for my recalcitrance and fell to my knees, writhing in pain. Again, his eyes haunted me, laughing and smiling like he had at school, lit with mischief, his hair caressing his forehead.

_I write again to let you know that this may be my last correspondence for awhile. I have been given a great honour and assignment._

I close my eyes, leaning against my chair. I’m breathing heavily as the memory comes again. The pain starts, the hours have passed where it had been numb. I stare blankly at the spot, the Dark Mark, ugly. The snake slithers inside and around the skull, trying to find home and I shudder again. It stands out completely against my pale skin, almost criss-crossing the older faded pink scars closer to my wrist.

I watch as it begins to lighten, as they said it would. Only when I was summoned would the ugly mark come back. We could be invisible to the rest of the world, blind followers hiding their true colours.

I thought of him again, coming home in red and gold. Mother and Father wouldn’t speak to him for weeks except to yell. I was so jealous of the attention. I wanted my letter so desperately that I tried to do as much “accidental” magic I could in hopes of receiving it a year early. The next summer, again with him in red and gold, brilliant colours striking against his pale features. Before I even got my letter I was already given an entire wardrobe of silver and green.

_I wish to do the best of my ability, and, as such, can not have any distractions about me on such an important mission._

The memories fall from me like the hair in his eyes. I push them back, only to have them fall once more. I see him, there, in the shadows, watching, a curious expression on his face. I know he sees me, alone, as I see him.

“I do this for you,” I mouth, lifting my now plain arm up for him, the shadows, to see. I stand up behind my desk, throwing my chair to the floor.

My eyes are searching the shadows, the four corners of the room. I gesture wildly, pointing and jabbing my forearm. “You!” I yell and I _know_ he’s watching me, laughing like he did when we were little and I was his dumb little brother. “You,” I say again.

I sink to the floor, mumbling a jumble of pleas for him to come home and his name over and over until I know sleep has finally come. Before I’m fully asleep, I know the shadows whisper “Make it count, you foolish boy.”

_mmm mmmngh_

__

Your loving son,  
RAB


	4. 47, Hold

_Sirius—_

_shhh shhh_

I shudder at the thought of his face as he reads my owl, _if_ he reads it. His grey eyes will darken until he looks so much like Father even though he’ll never admit it. I turn to the shadows, instead, his imprint better than the truth.

_Once, I have written you, knowing you’d never see it. Twice, here I am, writing again, even more futile._

I set my things to the side of my desk, arranged just so, the paper in its place, the quill in its case. I scowl at the symmetry like he would have, then I hold my head in my hands.

Leaning back in my chair, I remember that afternoon. The afternoon he left and never came home.

_Time, brother._

I heard loud noises coming from the hall. Mother and Father were screaming, he was screaming back, and Kreacher scuttled into my room to escape the fray. He looked at me and bowed.

He was gone. The heir, the firstborn, my _brother_ , was gone and had left me alone, to handle our parents alone.

I hid in his closet that first night, trying to escape Mother’s rage. She shut off his room and I thought I’d die before I remembered Kreacher. His closet was small and smelled like him and I could have stayed cramped in it forever to be closer to him.

_It’s time for you to come home, time for you to stop this foolishness. Your pride is no match against the rest of us. Come back now, it’s time and all will be forgotten._

I search the shadows, the absence of candlelight. I know if I think and look and try to forget I can still smell him.

I absently touch the hidden spot on my arm as I gaze across my desk. I feel twinges of emotions not quite my own through it, and I know somewhere, he’s every bit as tarnished as me.

_I promise I’ll never leave you like you left me._

I followed her closely, almost her shadow, silent and stalking. She faltered and I feared capture, but she continued on. I had to slip through a door almost molded to her, but still I was not caught.

Bellatrix was on her way to meet our master. I knew not why, nor did I care. I followed her for information, for stealth, for practice.

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” the Dark Lord intoned. I nearly gave myself away but managed to keep my wand by my side. I saw him look about the room, but he passed over my hiding place without further thought.

I pushed myself further against the wall, hoping for a crevice or niche to fold myself into. I came to a part of the wall that was so angled I was protected on all but one side. In my distraction I failed to hear the start of their conversation.

All at once, I found myself overwhelmed with the smell of him. I thought myself back in his closet for hours, waiting and waiting. I caught portions of the Dark Lord’s speech but I was too intent in sensation.

“…immortality…”

I stopped, suddenly attentive. I watched as my cousin smiled, a grin that caused the hairs upon my neck to stand straight up.

“Master, I crave the knowledge you trust me with.”

I strained to hear the conversation, but again I was unable. Bellatrix’s eyes lit up with each passing word and I knew I’d have to find out what he was telling her.

“The locket must not be found. I will not have my plans be thwarted by incompetence. Protect my horcrux, Bellatrix.”

I did not hear the rest of his command. I slumped against the crevice and waited for them to pass.

_Mother knows. I’ve taken the Mark, like I said I would._

Bellatrix had her hand at my throat, wand poked in my stomach.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, deathly, cold. I stared at her, my cousin, watched her as she looked at me with loathing she usually saved for her sister and my brother. “You will say _nothing_ ,” she spat. I felt my blood move at this and I knew she had done something. “You will say nothing,” she said again. She leaned closer, her crazy eyes boring into mine. “The Dark Lord always knows, cousin. He knows the traitors like he knows the loyalists. The Mark, cousin, the Dark Mark is in your blood, the blood you share with him, with me. The Dark Lord _always_ knows.”

I blinked and she was gone. I could still feel her hand around my neck and her wand. I shivered, took a deep breath, and prepared for home.

_A Black never backs down, you told me once. A Black makes it worthwhile. A Black never makes mistakes._

After overhearing his plans for immortality, I blinked rapidly, stunned. Every Black knew that to commit murder you split your soul, though we knew ways to thread it back together. Now, two knew how to cast a fragment away and into a vessel, a horcrux. Even hours later, as I sit in my chair at my desk, watching the candles flicker with every breath I can almost not breathe for fear of still being overheard, caught; two Blacks knew the secret.

_That was before you came home in red and gold, before you didn’t come home, making the biggest mistake of all the Blacks.  
Save me, the youngest._

I could not understand the _why_. Maybe my youth, or my experience with my family had driven all thoughts of age from me. I knew the longer I lived, the more precarious my position with sanity. Age did not come quietly with Blacks; it left its mark brutally. I hoped he would escape this as he had our family, but I fear maybe it had come early instead.

I have no desire to become another mad Black, hung as a portrait, like all the others, in our long hall, only to yell and scream at every noise for regret of what I had done in my life. I have no desire of immortality, living forever, chained to this house like I knew he thought he would be. True immortality was not just living forever, I think against the shadows. It was living and fulfilling my own destiny and leaving an imprint upon the world that I knew would be my immortality.

_I write this, hoping in some blind instance I’ll give it up to be owled, and with equal luck you’ll actually open your post that day. I write this, hoping you’ll come home._

The Dark Lord had already cast his mark upon me, but I have yet to make mine. _He_ has scarred me beyond even the Dark Lord, his hate, his turmoil, his rebellion all carried now on my back.

_I write this because I hate what you’ve done to this house, this family, to me. Brother, I hate you._

Yes, Sirius, you have left your mark, as a Black. Too haughty and pretentious for your own haughty and pretentious family and I miss you.

Oh, how I miss you.

_shhh shhh_

_Ever and always, yours,  
RAB_


	5. 75, Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anything you recognize is not mine, but the amazing JKR.

_To the Dark Lord_

_ffff shhhhhk_

I must write.

I must take it all down before it’s become too late. Each word I’ve written, uttered, before this very letter, very experience, means nothing compared to now. Each word ever thought has been leading to this, to this one short letter and I feel as if I’ve done too little, even now.

My hand is shaking. The ink splatters on the parchment and my vision blurs, staring at the dark spots contrasted so vividly against pale canvas. I see his tangled hair, thick and sweaty, he’s grinning at me beneath his lashes, ready for more. His pale skin, stretched out before me, only marred by the few dark spots of hair and tattoo; my brother, splayed out before me.

I blink and breathe, inhaling the thick scent of fear and ink and candle. I see myself write another line, hand still shaking, practicing what I shall write, make it count he always whispered.

_I know I will be dead long before you read this_

“Kreacher,” I whispered, smiling inwardly at the name my brother had given the foul elf. “Kreacher, listen to Young Master,” I pleaded.

Kreacher looked up at me from his polishing, frowning and mouthing something I could not discern. He tugged at one ear and just looked at me. The loss of my brother, the heir, the true Young Master, had hit him hard. He bowed low, reluctantly, the usual grimace on his face. “Young Master,” he practically growled.

“You will follow me, and you will obey me, no matter what I tell you.” I paused. “Understand?”

“Kreacher knows better than to ignore. Kreacher will obey Young Master.”

I smiled, my eyes lit with glee. Kreacher was a foul elf, barely obeying me, instead seeing me as some interloper between him and my mother. “We will do this tonight.”

_but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret._

The Dark Mark burned upon my arm the closer we were to the cave. Kreacher had used his own magic to help, despite the constant grimace stemmed from disobedience. He led the way. I knew Bellatrix had spoken to him, given him orders to never tell, the burden of the Dark Lord’s secret more than any Black, especially female, could bear. I, the makeshift heir to the Blacks, was more a Black than she. “Obey me,” I had hissed at him.

We entered the cave, dark, dense, cold. I shuddered when Kreacher tugged my hand. His eyes were wide, unseeing, and I nodded for him to continue. Without blinking he stared at me and then the wall, eyes widening further as if the horrors within had already been witnessed. I watched him, waited and then I understood. I used my wand to open a faded pink scar and bartered for our entrance. I shivered as we passed through.

Kreacher stood in front of me. I took in the scene before us; our shadows stretched behind us, less ghastly than the sight before us.

“Make it count, you foolish boy,” his whisper haunted me.

The lake was black, a sickly green emanating from its center, matching my face and Kreacher’s eyes. He pulled us forward, as if someone invisible was pulling him. He snapped and suddenly, inexplicably, a boat came into view. Kreacher stepped aboard, it shuddered slightly and I was beckoned forth. We glided across the lake, slowly, eternally, until a stone basin was visible in the center. I breathed in.

“The Dark Lord always knows.” Another whisper causing the hair upon my neck to rise.

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

My words are arrogant, even upon parchment. The Dark Lord, my _master_ , has split his soul, the very locket the candlelight is reflected in, and I channel my brother. I laugh, feeling sick to my stomach.

I blink, the reflection beckons me and the Mark burns me, yet I laugh still.

I, yes, _I_. The one overlooked by family, by them, by the Dark Lord, by _him_ , hidden in a corner, hidden under a staircase, hidden in the closet.

“The Dark Lord always knows,” I hear Bella cackle.

I shiver. My skin is crawling and I can almost smell her, dark and crazy. I exhale loudly in the quiet room. The locket echoes the sound my fist makes hitting my desk.

“Make it count,” he whispers against my neck. I can feel his fingertip tracing my spine but the smell of Bella is overwhelming. I can feel her around me, her eyes almost as read as she surveys me. I think of his touch, melting into the chair, escaping her.

The basin was full of a brilliant green liquid, and I could see something shiny, something small glistening at its base. I fingered the parchment in my pocket before pulling out my wand.

“Kreacher,” he turns to me, fear etched on his features. “Grab that locket.”

He tried, but he couldn’t. “Kreacher,” I growled. He jumped and tried again. I watched and walked around it as he kept forcing his hand into the basin. A goblet, left perched at the bottom, almost but not quite dusty. I picked it up.

“Kreacher,” I said gently, falling to my knees before him. “Is Kreacher thirsty?”

With wide eyes again he looked at me. “Master,” he croaked.

“Here, Kreacher, drink this.” I dip the goblet into the basin. The liquid was surprisingly cool as I filled it and handed it to the elf.

He shakily brought it to his mouth and took a deep draught. His ears twitched and his eyes closed but he finished it.

“Kreacher’s still thirsty,” I told him, filling the goblet again.

He muttered something under his breath, hesitating. “Kreacher,” I warned. “Kreacher, you must obey your Master.”

He finished the goblet again and again, ears twitching. Toward the end, his muttering became more frequent until the last goblet. “Ungrateful brat. Kreacher knows Mistress didn’t order Kreacher to this cave. Kreacher knows what went behind closed doors in the nasty unnatural brothers’ room.”

”Silence!” I gave him the very last drop, and reached for the locket. I turned it in my hands, looked at every angle and quickly transfigured a replacement. I carefully folded my note and placed it inside, setting it back in the middle of the basin, clutching the Horcrux in my palm.

Kreacher fell to the ground, grasping his throat, ears twitching and eyes watering. “Young Master, please.”

“Kreacher will do as he is told,” I reminded him, frowning and pulling him back towards the boat.

We were surrounded before taking a step, surrounded by foul men, decayed, a ghostly pallor prevalent and a vacant expression. I remembered the night of initiation: Inferi.

“Kreacher, fire.”

I brandished my wand, and together the elf and I were able to return to the boat and out of the cave.

I shiver and tremble in the flickering candlelight. Running my hands over the beaten desk, I read what I’ve written. The arrogance, oh would make him proud.

I feel him smile, still watching.

“Make it count,” he whispers.

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more._

I must write. All my words, my arrogance, my Sirius, I have poured and patted and the Dark Lord will find me.

“Make it count,” from the shadows behind me. I shiver and glance at the locket, the candlelight still flickering against its sheen.

“The Dark Lord knows.”

_ffff shhhhhk_

__

RAB


	6. 61, Sanity

__

Sirius—

_thump thump_

I stare at the parchment, like I have the last few nights. It’s yellowed, like it’s been in the desk as long as I’ve been alive, but no longer, just waiting for me to write, to put it all down on paper, my betrayal is complete. The ink is almost gone, drafts upon drafts thrown aside, until one perfect note, perfect lie, is drawn out. The bottle is mostly clear, the stopper virtually unnecessary. My quill scratches the paper, lines of ink flowing from its tip noisily. This letter, one of my last.

_I’ve done something. I’ve done it, the ultimate betrayal. I’ve betrayed my friends, my true family, my heritage, my beliefs even, for you brother._

I stand and stare out of my window. The trees are moving; a light wind flirts with the leaves. I wish myself out there, away from the oppressive darkness, free and floating. I take a deep breath and begin to pace.

I walk into the shadows in between the candles, where I knew he rested. I reach and search and he’s not there, he’s not there to rescue me, to find me. He’s no longer laughing and I’m alone. All alone and the Dark Lord always knows.

_Were it not to save you? Shall I not sacrifice my own life, for that of countless others?_

“Kreacher, you must not make a sound,” I whispered as we walked through the hallway. The locket was solid against my leg. I could barely hear Kreacher muttering imprecations over my own thoughts.

How would I destroy it? I knew that my master would have wanted to ensure it would be difficult to destroy. I was not versed in the way of Dark Magic like my cousins, and I knew to ask them would bring death that much closer. I took it out of my pocket, turning it over and over, looking for a clue.

Sirius.

Where would I hide it then, to ensure Mother would not find it but he would? His room I knew was the best choice. I called Kreacher to me.

“Kreacher.” He bowed. I held up the locket, watching as his eyes followed the chain from my hand. “You will hide this so that your Mistress will not find it. Then you will forget the spot until Sirius comes home. Only then can you tell anyone where it is hidden, or that you know what it is. Only, tell no one but Sirius.”

He glared at me and muttered again.

“Kreacher will obey Young Master,” I said again as I handed him the locket.

_I’ve done it, what I’ve come here to do, in the hopes that it reaches you, before I die, before this is intercepted, before you’ve gone too far in your hatred of all things familiar._

I cross to the other side of the room, looking at the window again. Open, so open, I could just step outside, walk and walk until I could walk no more, leave this house like he did, never to return, never to return home, to responsibility for my actions, for his actions, to family, family I couldn’t hate yet didn’t love, to the Dark Lord. I could walk not run, walk not run, walk and never be found.

Sighing, I make my way back to my desk. Leaning against it, staring at the parchment, I’m overcome with feeling, fear, loathing, _love_.

  
_What price a soul? Dear Brother, amidst death and sickness, perverseness and pride, I find nothing to soothe, to commend, to_ heal _the visions upon my mind._  


His breath on my neck. I shiver and he smiles. He slowly trails a finger across my cheek, down my jaw, across my lower lip and then down, down, circling a nipple and further, further until his hand tangles in the hair below my bellybutton and I gasp. His smile widens and he leans forward. I close my eyes and lift up for a kiss but I gasp again when he latches onto my neck. He lathes, gripping and pulling. I pull closer, mouth open, breathing and gasping. He pulls away, still smiling. My eyes close again automatically when he leans forward. I feel feather light kisses on my eyelids and the ghost of a touch on my spine.

He laughs when I jump. My eyes fly open and finally, finally we kiss. He tongue circles mine and we both moan at the contact. My hands reach up to his shoulders and I crush our bodies together.

_I have learned of a plot that you have more than a passing interest in. You are in danger; the Mudblood and blood traitor, the beast and rat, you are all in danger. I am in danger from telling you, from even writing these words on parchment, an unforgivable betrayal._

His hands cradle my face, deepening the kiss and drawing a moan from me. It’s hot and needy and I know this will last.

We break apart, breathing heavily, identical smiles on our nearly identical features. I reach up and brush stray hair from his forehead.

I pull him to me in an affectionate embrace. “I love you,” I breathe. He holds tighter and whispers, “Don’t ever leave me.” I nod against his shoulder.

“Brothers?” We both nod.

He kisses my cheek and leaves the room.

_The Dark Lord has made himself immortal in a sense of the word. He’s split his soul, the one thing a man should not touch, to live longer, forever. He’s cheapened his existence by going further than any man should to be a god._

In my chair I sit. I scratch a few stray words on the parchment, meaningless against the memories. Make it count means nothing against the words in my head. They beg to be written, screamed, but I keep them hidden. I write him, asking, pleading, longing. He’ll know, he’ll know how to save me.

_Come home, I need you to persuade me one way or the other, help me decide whether this sacrifice merits another and what to do with this one._

He smiles at me as he takes me in hand. It’s all I can do to not scream out, scream his name in the hallway. I thrust against him, pushing against the wall and the sensations pouring from his hand almost kills me. When he lets go I drop to my knees, breathing in and thanking everything to be free.

I look up at him. He winks, arrogant, and teaches me like a good older brother should. He’s patient and kind at first, until he’s so overwhelmed and loses control. I smile at his abandon and smile again at being _chosen_ by _him_.

He lifts me up and kisses me gently. He smoothes my hair back and kisses my nose. “Brothers?” he smiles.

_I fear I’ve lost you, Brother, in more ways than the confusing jumble of words I’ve presented you with._

I crumple the parchment and throw it against the wall. I throw the near-empty bottle of ink against the wall too. It smashes, a more satisfying noise than paper. I snap my quill in half, then fourths and it joins the pooling ink.

I turn my desk over, sweating with the effort. The drawers are thrown next, the wood scratching the wall. I throw my chair last, aiming for the window to hear the glass break. Instead the wood breaks and I have nothing left to throw.

_Sirius, find the locket I’ve hidden, find it and destroy it before the world destroys you._

I collapse, facing the shadows. They flicker and lengthen, causing shapes and demons to appear on the wall. I reach out to push them away and my eyes wander until they close.

_thump thump_

__

Ever and always, yours,  
RAB


	7. 81, Second

__

_Headmaster—_

_tick tock_

I breathe in and out, in and out. The walls are closing in on me and the candles flicker and fade.

_The Dark Lord has split his soul._

I write in the darkness, with my own blood; my scars are ripped open and there is skin underneath my fingernails.

_I have found his horcrux but I can not destroy it._

I paint the words slowly, meticulously. I can’t write too fast or the blood dries, I make too much noise and they will find me. Second best, second worst, I am the one they will find. I write too slow and the blood pools, I’ll have to start again and they will find me.

_I need your help._

I hold my breath when I feel magic. I close my eyes and fold into myself when I hear footfalls outside my door.

_I need your protection for me and my brother._

I cough and choke at the sudden light and her eyes are looking into mine.

_I need—_

tick tock 


End file.
